Act Three
by brindle2
Summary: If I ever direct My Fair Lady, in the last scene Eliza would stand behind Higgins, smiling lovingly but mischievously, the slippers on the backswing aimed at his head, as the lights fade quickly to black. And what happens next? Read on.
1. 1 Advantage Miss Doolittle

Advantage Miss Doolittle

WHAP! Higgins' hat, which had been covering his eyes, flew across the room, and he now clearly saw Eliza clutching his slippers, recovering from the follow-through.

"What... what... " Higgins sat up and spun around, alternating glares at Eliza with scans for his hat. It had landed smartly on the handle of the fireplace poker in its rack. He stalked over and seized it, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a grudging _good shot_ in his mind. He wheeled round at Eliza. "You VIXEN! Complaining that you thought I would strike you, which I never would, and then turning round and striking me first! Treacherous wretch!"

"Your hat. I meant to hit your hat." Was she smiling?

"The devil you did, you..."

"At any rate I succeeded in getting your attention. Since you were very clear about how things would be with you if I returned, it is necessary that I make clear to you how things would be with me."

"How things..."

"I have enjoyed acting as your secretary and scheduler, it has been a great help with my spelling, and I am glad to continue. Since I have limited experience, I would never dream of asking more than 16s a week."

"Sixteen sh... What on earth do you need sixteen shillings for?"

"For my room of course. Mrs Pearce has recommended a very nice women's boarding house. Her niece is learning millinery and can attest to the proprietor's good character."

"Boarding... That's absurd! You can stay here, same as you always have! If you have worries about appearances Mrs Pearce can always act as your chaperone like she..."

"I'm sorry, Professor, but in this world a woman has nothing if she does not have her reputation. As lovely as your home is, and as attentive and helpful as your household has been, I must insist on residing off the premises."

"Is my mother lending you any money?"

"I would not dream of putting her in that position; I have too much respect for her."

"Pickering?"

"I would never ask him either, and anyway I haven't seen him since we returned home from the ball."

"Ah, then it's true, after all that you are casting your lot with that worthless Freddy! And you dare to enter my presence under that circumstance and ask for employment! You selfish...!"

"Save your righteous rage, Professor, I'm afraid I broke it off with Freddy about an hour ago." He recognized the enunciation, projection, and lowering of pitch that he taught her when he had complained her "proper" voice was too soft, and now regretted offering that lesson. She sighed. "You were right on that account. I was just using his affection to solve a problem, and that was not at all fair to him. It was hard on the poor boy, but I think I saved him some heartache in the future. Hopefully the experience will help him grow up a bit."

"Your father, then."

"Really, Professor?"

"Right. Of course not. Well then, where on earth are you getting money for lodging?"

"From my position as your scheduler, of course."

_Oh you poor silly girl_, he thought as he grinned widely. "And what makes you so certain that I would hire you, after you have treated me so villainously?"

"Because I know you will be needing your appointment book at some time soon, maybe even tomorrow."

Higgins paused, stared, and bolted to the desk. The appointment book was not on the desk, nor was it in the top drawer. "You snatched it! That, young lady, is a matter for the police!"

"I did no such thing. I merely put it... did not put it in the usual spot during preparations for the ball last evening. I thought nothing of it at the time."

He knew that now he could never turn her over to the police. He knew she knew he would never turn her over to the police. "Appointment books are lost all the time," he said hastily. "I'll get in touch with my colleagues and students and ask them to remind me of the engagements. I could reconstruct the entire upcoming year in a week's time at the most."

"Of course, Professor," she smiled. "All you need is your address book."

His jaw flapped weakly for a moment. "Which is... of course... where the... Oh, bloody hell, Eliza, you're hired! Eight SHARP tomorrow morning and NO EXCUSES." He slammed some coins down on the desk.

She took no outward notice of the shocking language, gracefully placed the coins in her purse, turned to face Higgins, and grasped his hand, shaking it cordially. "Thank you very much, Professor; you will not regret it." Their eyes met more than briefly, and as she turned and left, he found it more and more difficult to remain properly angry with her.


	2. 2 Assumptions

Assumptions

Higgins spent most of the evening pacing about the house, occasionally and half-heartedly looking under odd piles of papers and books. At about nine Pickering breezed in. "Good news, Higgins, I have an old friend at the Home Office who has put three men on the case. She's as good as found."

"She's back."

"There you are! Jolly good! Knew I could count on old Boozy. Damn fine afternoon over at the club, remembering our old... ah... events. So where is Eliza?"

"She's not here."

"Confound it, Higgins, make up your mind, is she here or not?"

"She's taken lodgings at a women's boarding house."

"A bit hard on her to throw her out like that, wouldn't you say?"

"I did NOT throw her out." He glared at Pickering. "She says if she is going to work for me she would rather live elsewhere, and I suppose there is some merit in that. I'm paying her sixteen shillings a week to be a secretary and scheduler."

"But did you have to drive so hard a bargain? The typewriter girl at the club gets one-and-three, although she's been there a few years, and she is a lightning fast typist, almost as fast as one can talk, it's really a marvel how the technique's come along since the days of..."

"ELIZA..." Higgins' outburst silenced Pickering. "...suggested the wage herself. She doesn't feel her spelling is good enough to command a greater wage."

"She must have done that out of consideration for your position then. I understand, right sporting of her."

"Well, I don't! Consideration for my position! What about me does she need to worry about?"

"Oh, come Higgins, it's fairly obvious you do have some feelings for her. Now don't protest. Your actions betray your words, and your rationalisations are just a bit too strenuous."

"That's a bit rich coming from an old bachelor like you."

"And where in hell are you getting this old bachelor nonsense? I thought I'd heard you say that. before. You've read _Spoken Sanskrit_, didn't you see the dedication?"

Higgins paled and suddenly could not look Pickering in the eye. Higgins had written fourteen books and never had any use for dedications. Whenever any other book came into his hand he skipped the front matter and went straight for the meat of the work. He slowly crossed to a bookshelf, carefully pulled out _Spoken Sanskrit,_ and turned the first pages over. Of course. _To my own Millicent, with my love and gratitude forever._ He forced out words he hardly ever said: "Pickering, I'm terribly sorry."

"Millie was born in India. Her father was the colonel in my regiment. I met her at an officers' ball. She had such a great affection for the place and the people. Some said too much. We were married fifteen years. No children, so she was every child's favourite aunt. She was actually my best informant for the book, and proofread the manuscript. About ten years ago, while I was away on an inspection tour, she caught cholera... " Pickering was stone faced. There was nothing more to say.

All Higgins could think of to do was go to the mantle, pour two glasses of port, and offer one to Pickering. "I shall try to be more attentive in the future."

Pickering graciously took the glass. "Hardly your fault, old chap. I shouldn't avoid talking about past times like that. We had fifteen wonderful years, which is more than many men get. More than many men get the opportunity to have." He toasted Higgins with a sly smile.

Higgins hesitantly returned the toast, tried to get his bearings, and tossed back his port. He needed to steady his nerves. The wind had changed direction entirely too many times today.


	3. 3 A Play on Words

DISCLAIMER 1: I do not own any of the characters or any portion of the script/score of My Fair Lady. My work is done as a tribute to Shaw, Lerner and Loewe. DISCLAIMER 2: Oh I never been to St. John's / but I kinda like the music... (i.e. Newfies rock!)****

&&&&&****

**"**Yours sincerely..." A third letter typed for Professor Higgins to sign on his return. Eliza Doolittle was proud that she no longer really needed to ask Mrs Pearce to proofread her letters, but she asked her anyway, out of respect. She enjoyed diving into the multivolume Oxford Dictionary that Higgins owned. It gave her ammunition in her somewhat peppery discussions with the professor. She recalled that he once said that arguments could be "fun", which she did not believe at the time. But she now allowed that possibility since she had started winning a few of them.****

Eliza had been Higgins' assistant for nearly a year. She gave all the books and the newspapers that crossed her desk a good looking over, and took as much as she could from them. She was also meeting a great number of fascinating people, from worlds she never knew existed, come to collaborate with and learn from Higgins. Between what Higgins and Pickering had taught her and what she realized was the resourcefulness she had had all along, she thought she could do anything. Some days she felt like the world was her plaything. And some days she felt like the only thing she truly wanted she could not have. ****

The bell rang. The postman, right on time. "Afternoon, Miss Doolittle, the governor here?" ****

**"**Off at a meeting, Mr. Floyd. How is your little family today?"****

"Perfect, perfect! The missus and the baby are settling in, and little Ned hasn't decided to be jealous yet, so he's still a help."****

**"**You're a lucky fellow, Mr. Floyd."****

**"**Oh, don't worry, Miss Doolittle, a pretty and capable lady like yourself, your time will come. You have two from India and one from Portugal in this batch. Good day to you."****

He's entirely too happy for a sleep-deprived dad with a squalling baby at home, thought Eliza, scowling. She willed up memories of caring for her neighbors' brats as she was growing up, but it didn't work. Higgins kept getting in the way. All the world out there beckoning her, and it was that acerbic, self-centered old scholar she couldn't be without. She deplored his rationalising, yet his clever talk and wordplay were almost like absinthe to her. So here she was, her own prisoner. But she had to be careful, because he could sack her at a moment's notice if things got too uncomfortable for him. She cursed herself for allowing Higgins the upper hand in this arrangement.****

&&&&&****

Henry Higgins stormed round the corner onto Wimpole Street. Today he preferred walking to a cab, it wasn't that much slower, and he was still agitated about his Philologics Association meeting. He thought being asked to fill the vacant seat on the journal committee was an honor; now he wondered how many people had said no first and why he was not aware of that. He had envisioned seeing cutting-edge research in advance of publication, and instead he was inundated with politicking and petty territorialism.****

He looked forward to returning home and unbottling his complaints on Eliza. No matter that she was frequently stubborn, or that her opinions often differed (sometimes strenuously) from his, she generally was a patient listener, even sympathetic at surprising moments. ****

Eliza. He recalled the conversation he overheard in the front hall before the meeting came to order.****

**"**Higgins. I'd pity his wife. Is he married?"****

**"**No. He should probably marry that assistant of his, though. They already bicker like an old married couple."****

**"**No, I've seen her. She can do a lot better than him." General subdued merriment.****

His sour mood returned. How long could this last? Certainly Eliza would move on eventually. She was bright and able, too spirited for an old academic like him, easily one good row away from giving notice, and then where would he be? Despite all he had achieved in his life, it would feel like starting from nothing again. He couldn't help feeling that Eliza had the upper hand in this arrangement.****

&&&&&****

Higgins opened the front door and saw Eliza at her desk in the front hall. His mood lifted just a bit. She looked like she had some good news. Maybe his three o'clock cancelled. "Good afternoon, Professor." She cheerily handed him a small stack of letters. "How was the meeting?"****

**"**Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful." Higgins sorted the stack. "If they aspire to being the premier society for the study of linguistics in the world, they need each one of them to stop being so blasted parochial. Hm. Delhi. By George, it's from Pickering!" He tore the letter open. "Excellent, excellent, he's come into some family property in Harrow. Says he'll be returning to England for good in about two months. Splendid!"****

**"**So I've heard."****

Did she know everything? "And how did you find out?"****

**"**He sent me a postcard." She blithely waved a hand-tinted photo of the Taj Mahal under an impossibly blue sky.****

**"**Yes, well, I imagine you'll be happy to see him back in town after dealing with me on your own for ten months."****

**"**It's built my character." Eliza smiled defiantly. Higgins snorted. "And you'll be happy to see him as well, won't you, Professor?"****

**"**He's certainly always good for a chuckle. Not always intentionally, poor fellow."****

**"**You could do with a chuckle from him now. Your three o'clock is here."****

**"**Lord give me strength."****

**"**And Mr Parsons has a request. It seems that the meeting with his fiancee's parents has been moved ahead, and he wishes to ask if you would consider giving him a discount on the per-hour rate if he takes two hours of lessons a day instead of one."****

**"**Discount? The man's from Newfoundland. I should be doubling the rate. Honestly, you might think that the letters T-H are forbidden there from appearing together in public"****

**"**I think you should do it. You're bound to succeed with him, and the word of mouth will bring more business in the door."****

**"**Business is good. I can afford to turn away a client if it is a question of my sanity."****

**"**Your reputation, then. You've already given him two lessons, and it's only for a fortnight. Certainly getting a Newfoundlander to speak English is a significant achievement!" Eliza said wryly.****

**"**Already done. Mulholland wrote a paper on it three years ago."****

**"**Then your reputation as a gentleman of your word! You have already agreed to take him as a student."****

**"**Yes, and he's trying to get me to agree to twice our agreed time!"****

**"**It would be a valuable show of good will toward a student...!"****

**"**I don't care about good will!" shouted Higgins.****

**"**And that's why you hired me!" shouted Eliza. "To care FOR you!"****

They stared at each other. It happened again. Certain phrases or words slipped out at odd times, phrases that threatened to open the door between them and let their real desires see the day. It happened twice yesterday. Eliza had offhandedly commented that the calendar indicated that Higgins belonged to the Philologics Association next Tuesday through Thursday, and he said he would write a request he had for Cambridge the next Friday "when I belong to you again." Then after tea Eliza, annoyed with his delay in writing the request, said he needed to "propose quickly while you have a chance." This of course was nothing compared to luncheon at Higgins' mother's home the day before. Mrs. Higgins was fond of Eliza and had chided her son for not bringing her along more often. Eliza graciously replied that she was often busy and not available to accompany him, and he countered with, "Nonsense, I can have her anytime I want." Mrs. Higgins coughed into her napkin for some time after that.****

**"**...for you, in a manner of speaking," Eliza mumbled, red-faced.****

**"**In a manner of speaking," acknowledged Higgins, red-faced.****

More staring. They were both uncharacteristically silent.****

Eliza set her jaw and stood up. "We need to talk. About everything. We can't keep letting... unsaid things... get in the way."****

**"**Exactly!" Higgins broke eye contact and started to pace. "Air it all out. Put everything on the table and decide forward courses of action. It's the prudent and necessary thing to do."****

**"**But not now, because Mr Parsons is in the next room."****

**"**Oh, please!... Very well, you're the scheduler, let's schedule it. When are you- rather, when am I free?"****

Eliza turned over a page in the calendar, then turned it back. "Today at five o'clock, assuming this lesson goes that long?"****

Higgins growled and struggled with his control. "Yes! Yes!" he barked. "Five it is! Could have been four, but I seem to be busy!" He flopped into a chair, took a few deep breaths, and looked at Eliza. "I will endeavour to be calmer. I know this is important."****

Eliza smiled a bit. "You can start at five by telling me all about the lesson." ****

The study door opened. An impeccably dressed and pathetically eager young man put his head out into the front hall. "Ah, Professor, you're back! She's settled, den?"****

Higgins sighed, put his hand to his forehead and said carefully, "Who is settled, Mr Parsons?"****

**"**She's settled dat you'll be teaching me anodder..." Higgins gave Parsons a withering glare over his shoulder. Parsons trembled a bit. "An... anottthhhher oar... OW-er."****

Higgins looked at Eliza again, then slowly stood up to go into the study. "Another hour, yes, Mr Parsons, I will. We shall need it to discuss your pronoun use. As a rule, 'she' is ONLY to be used for people, pets, and occasionally boats, is that understood?" The door to the study closed.****

Eliza took a slightly tremulous breath. Well, this is what she had been wanting for so long, and now it was imminent. Things would be settled one way or the other after this evening. She looked down at the calendar. She would write it in, just in case anyone called, and also to make it more real to her. ****

What to call it? "Appointment?" Too vague. "Planning meeting." She wrote it and immediately erased it. It assumed there was something to plan, and that seemed dangerously optimistic. "Discern future..." Oh no no no, that sounded like a solicitor. "Assignation..." What was she thinking! She scribbled that out and then erased it. Now think, she scolded herself, before you make a hole in the page. If not in content, why won't this be the same in form as any other discussion you have with him?****

In the book she wrote, "Debate."


	4. 4 Passing Clouds

_Busy times. Sorry for the delay. This was also a little squirrlier to write than I anticipated! I do not own the characters to My Fair Lady or Pygmalion; I do these stories in tribute to Shaw, Lerner & Loewe._

The little train slowly inched up Mont Blanc and readily came to a stop at the small wooden platform and shed in the meadow. Eliza bounced out of the train in a bundle of nervous energy. "I'm here! In the Alps! This is amazing! It looks like every fairy tale you've ever heard! Oh, that track was so narrow I thought the train would fall off the side of the mountain!"

Henry collected the rucksacks and moved more slowly. "I know you did. Everyone aboard knows you did."

Eliza took a rucksack from Henry and slung it onto her back. "I'm so sorry, but I do feel so much better with my feet on solid ground. Now let's not waste another second. Here's the trail. I've stared at the map so much I feel like I know the place. Off we go!" And over the stile she went with Henry struggling to catch up.

So it went for the next hour, Eliza constantly scrambling forward to discover the next view or rill or rock formation, and Henry behind shouting "Blast it, Eliza, how is a soul to take in a place if you won't stand still for a bit?"

Finally she came to a meadow at the foot of a cliff, which gently sloped down before it dropped off into some trees. Further down, there were green farms, a small river, and the lower terminus of the railroad in town. Above, snow-capped crags and gleaming slopes dared travelers on. Eliza, however, proclaimed, "Here. This is the place." She removed the blanket from her rucksack, and spread it out with Henry's help. Then she sighed and flopped down onto it on her back.

Henry looked nervously up the trail to see if anyone had seen Eliza's unladylike display, and then sat on the blanket, cautious but glad for the rest. Eliza glanced at him. "Oh, do lie down and look up, Henry, the clouds are incredible!"

"Really, what if someone were to come upon us like this?"

"You're nowhere near me. Now come on, there's a good fellow." He was near enough for Eliza to swat his left arm out from under him and send him backwards.

White and grey clouds glided serenely across a magnificent blue sky. They were so sharply defined, Henry felt like he could catch one in his hand. He looked over at Eliza who was taking deep breaths. "Are you all right?"

"Never better. I am positively drunk on pure clean air. I cannot get enough of it."

"That would certainly explain the giddiness."

"This," said Eliza, flinging her arms above her, "is why I wanted to come here, not Paris or Venice or Rome, but someplace without so many people, or so much smoke. And mountains with snow on them! I know it seems silly, but that's always been a dream of mine. And to be able to share it..."

Their hands clasped tightly in between them on the blanket. Each of them seemed afraid to say anything further. Whenever they discussed their relationship in too much detail, it would degenerate into an argument.

Even their engagement was born of an argument. Henry sighed as he thought about that odd day. After the first tentative words about considering marriage, they were suddenly blaming each other for a lack of freedom!

Henry had bellowed, "I answer to no one regarding the conduct of my business, do you understand?"

And Eliza had just picked up where she left off earlier that day. "It's you who don't understand! You answer to everyone you see every day. If you keep mistreating them it's just a matter of time before they answer back."

"You have no compunction against answering back."

"Of course not! All these tools you've given me, all these abilities you've helped me find, I cannot let them languish now! I will use my skills!"

"Good heavens, now I'm Frankenstein, with my creation turning against me!"

"Your creation again! I'm sorry, Professor, but I was already quite thoroughly created when I first came here. And honestly, it sounds like I should be turning away at this time."

"Yes, after all that high talk about marriage."

"Well, I'm glad we got that straightened out now. Probably for the best."

"What's for the best?"

"My leaving your employ."

"You wouldn't dare!"

"If you won't let me help you there is no sense in my staying on as your assistant. I've saved up a bit, I have some time to look for a situation where I'm free to do the work I'm best at!"

"And that would be...?"

"Smoothing out the rough spots, getting people together, getting things to happen, solving problems ... I want to be allowed a bit of a challenge!"

"A challenge, eh? That's it? Marry me then, damn it!" shouted Henry.

"All right, I will! You've been warned!" growled Eliza.

And then they glared at each other until they both burst out laughing. It was absurd, but frightfully typical. They enjoyed each other's company, and there was no denying the physical attraction. They were also both exceptionally stubborn, which had always served them well... individually.

Eliza, broke the silence and brought Henry's thoughts back to the mountainside. "I see a little boy teaching a dog to sit up, and an old woman walking with a crooked cane. What do you see in the clouds?"

Henry thought for a moment. "Over there, that's definitely the statue of Marcus Aurelius on horseback in Rome."

Eliza rolled her eyes. "You would."

Henry sniffed. "Well, to his right is a young Roman lady in a fairly short toga, but as I am now a married man and should not be looking at other women, I thought it indelicate to mention."

"Oh, you are impossible!"

"You knew that," Henry sang.

"I did, I did." Eliza affected a pained sigh and smirked a bit.

Henry felt happier than he ever thought he could be. He wanted to tell Eliza somehow, but he was no good at lovers' talk. He looked off to his right at the grasses and little wildflowers growing near him. His eye was drawn to something that looked like a daisy, except its petals were rimmed with pink. Still clutching Eliza's hand, he contemplated the flower a while, then reached out and picked it. He sat up and offered it to her.

"It reminds me of you," Henry said. "Unassuming... tenacious... and beautiful."

Eliza sat up, looked at the flower, looked deeply in Henry's eyes, and smiled. She cradled the flower in her hand for a minute. Henry thought, hoped, that she might put it in her hair or her hat, and was surprised to hear her say, "Do you have the water flask?" He handed her the flask and watched as she scraped under the moss next to her, into the thin layer of soil, and covered and watered the base of the stem.

Henry was stung. "I thought you liked flowers."

"I do, really, it's just that... Oh, you couldn't have known. I can hardly bear to look at cut flowers anymore. It's nicer to see that they have a chance to keep growing. Please don't worry about it. What you just told me is... it really means so much to me." She kissed him on the cheek, but he still pouted.

Neither wanted an argument here, it was too beautiful. That there was no argument was, in hindsight, remarkable. But the picnic lunch was quieter than it should have been.

The dark cloud over them, like all clouds, would not last. But each continued to find the other completely baffling.


	5. 5 Some Relative Discomfort

Some relative discomfort

Does Higgins' mother have a first name? I don't have access to the movie right now, and Shaw did not mention one in Pygmalion, unless I missed it, which is well within the realm of possibility. So I'm getting all Rowlingesque and calling her Grace for now. These characters do not belong to me. They belong to Shaw, Lerner, and Loewe, and I pay tribute to them thus.

...

"Won't be long until we're at the dock now." Henry took a deep breath of salty, smoky, wonderful English air. It had been a fine month, but he was ready to be home among familiar things.

"Thank heaven!" Eliza gripped the rail and looked straight ahead, willing the land to come to her.

"Oh, don't be too concerned about it. Lots of people get seasick on the Channel. It's actually a pretty rough..."

Eliza drew herself up. "I was not seasick! That egg was not cooked correctly is all".

"Now you know I had the exact same egg and... Eliza! Is there a chance of you..." Henry's voice lowered and he leaned in toward Eliza. "...expecting?"

Eliza was exasperated. "Absolutlely no chance! Do I need to explain why?"

"No no no, please!" Henry said quickly, wishing to avoid a public biology lecture. Eliza generally kept her temper under contol better than Henry, but when she did lose it, the results were usually more spectacular.

Henry squinted toward the dock where the customary small crowd was gathered. "I say, did you tell my mother our return plans?"

"I mentioned that we were coming home today, that was all."

"I do think I see her at the dock there. I wonder what that's all about."

"Oh, my, isn't that Colonel Pickering with her?"

"By George, it is. This can't be good."

"They don't look particularly grim. I think they're smiling. Oh, they see us! Wave back, Henry."

Henry waved but did not smile. "Something is up. You don't just decide to drive four hours to meet someone at the ferry."

But Henry's mother and Pickering seemed to be acting in just that manner. Eliza recovered almost immediately upon leaving the gangplank and skipped over to them with Henry in pursuit. There were smiles, kisses, handshakes, like they happened to be in the neighborhood. Henry waited mutely until someone mentioned the reason for the excursion. When he couldn't stand it anymore (the longest fifteen seconds of his life), he cried out, "Oh, out with it, Mother, what's the matter?"

"Why, nothing is the matter, dear, we happened to be here and thought to take a chance that this was your ferry. Did you have a good time?"

"It was perfect!" said Eliza. "Or nearly so. I think I had a bad egg for breakfast this morning. But aside from that, it was all so beautiful, and everyone was wonderful. I don't know why people say that the French are rude, they were all very nice to me."

"But what is it that one does in the Alps if one is not a mountaineer?" said Pickering.

"Oh there are plenty of wonderful walks for regular people, and someone is always playing music or singing." said Eliza. Henry grimaced and coughed in recollection. "And Henry got to collect some new accents. It's the border of three countries, you know."

Henry's mother gasped. "Henry, you did NOT take your gramophone on your honeymoon!"

Eliza laughed. "It's quite all right. He got his accents, I got my mountains. The perfect place, really."

"Pickering!" Henry burst out. "What – are – you – doing – here? What – are – you – TWO – doing – HERE?"

"Well," said Pickering, "if you must know-" Henry stifled an angonized groan. "We are on our way to Sandwich for the week. The golfing is quite good, and these seaside resorts are very enjoyable out of season."

"What? Mother? You and … him? I mean, he's a good chap, but, but, well really, you're both a bit old to be carrying on like that."

Pickering smiled even more broadly. "Oh, don't worry, Higgins old boy, it's all quite on the level. You see, the last few months have been so damned confusing... "

"Hugh, please, your language!" Despite her words, Henry's mother didn't seem that displeased.

Eliza gasped, her eyes sparkling, as she thought, "She called him Hugh!"

Henry stopped breathing, his face falling, as he thought, "She called him Hugh!"

"Well it was, to have two Mrs Higgins-es about, so I suggested a remedy, and Grace was very amenable, fine woman your mother, Higgins, and we got married about two weeks ago!"

"MARRIED!" Henry roared.

"Now don't worry, Henry," said Mrs Higgins, or rather, Mrs Pickering, "you'll still inherit. I got it all straightened out with the solicitor."

"Hang the solicitor! You know I'm all right on my own! But, Mother... at your age... really... "

"And what age is that, please, son?"

"An age of discretion, I would have thought."

"But we are being discreet. We married, after all."

"Oh, Lord help me!" Henry paced and fanned himself vigorously with his hat.

"I think it's absolutely wonderful!" said Eliza as she kissed each of them on the cheek once again. "But I do wish we could have been there for the wedding. We did wait for you to return from India for our wedding, Colonel." She couldn't look properly reproachful while she was smiling so.

"Well, it's a bit different when you're older and it's your second time round," said Pickering. "You don't really want to make a fuss."

"Getting married becomes less important than being married," added Mrs Pickering. "Now I hope you might have some time to have tea with us before your train."

"I'm sure we must!" Eliza looked almost as happy as she did at her own wedding. "Do you have the timetable, Henry?"

Henry was still trying to comprehend what had happened. He looked at Eliza blankly, finally mumbled, "Timetable," and produced the paper after rummaging in several pockets.

"Oh, splendid, we have a little over two hours. Let us just get the luggage sent the right way and we'll meet you at the restaurant."

"If you don't mind I'll take the liberty of ordering," said Pickering. "I recall you enjoy strawberry tart, isn't that right... Mrs Higgins?" He gave Eliza a smile and a wink.

Eliza laughed and turned to Henry, who was already halfway to the baggage claim. She ran to catch up to him. "Now what is the matter?"

"The matter is that my mother needs to learn to act her age! Flirting like a schoolgirl! And Pickering just encouraging her!"

Eliza wondered if they had just witnessed different scenes. "Now, Henry, you mustn't be selfish. Everyone is entitled to some happiness. Especially your mother... oh, my goodness." Eliza stared down the quay.

"What?"

"It's my father. There. The fellow in the bowler and the green tie, trying not to look at me."

About twenty yards away, Alfred Doolittle sighed when it was apparent Eliza would not release her gaze on him, turned to her as though surprised to see her, and waved. "Oi! Liza!"

Eliza approached him, with Henry warily a step behind. "Going on a trip, Dad?"

"And why not? I 'ave the means, I 'ave the time, and it's spring! Paree beckons! May as well take advantage of the opportunity to spend a few free days in France, the land o' romance. Speaking of which, you just got back from 'oneymoon, no doubt? 'Ope Liza was good to you, Professor, or perhaps I should say, 'Enry me boy!"

"Perhaps not," said Henry very clearly.

"Riiiight. Well, awfully good of you to invite 'Arry and Jamie along to your wedding breakfast. Since I've 'ad to lately carry the burden of being the most fascinating person in the room- apart from the bride, apart from the bride!- it was a nice 'omey touch to have a couple of mates from down the lane that I could toast the 'appy couple with."

"I invited them to make sure you got home all right," said Eliza.

"Made sure I...! I don't like the implyin' of that, young lady! I can 'old me liquor as well as the next and better'n most! Matter of fact, I beat 'em 'ome that evenin'!"

"Dad, they carried you into a cab. I paid for it."

Doolittle looked at Eliza puzzled. "That's not 'ow I remember it."

"I believe that's the point," said Henry.

"Oh THERE you are, Alfie!" Eliza's jaw dropped again as a woman not much older than her leapt to Doolittle's side. She was wearing a red and black suit adorned with a frightful amount of feathers, and carried a paper sack. "They're starting to board. I've got sandwiches and cakes and a pint for each of us for the boat, and then dinner tonight in PARIS!" She started to bounce.

"And is this your lovely wife, Doolittle?" Henry asked in a rare moment of diplomacy.

"Oh 'eavens, no, Alfie and I ain't married!" said the candid young lady, "But we 'ave so much fun together, maybe we ought to, while we're in PARIS, wouldn't that be romantic?" She resumed bouncing.

Eliza crisply began, "I'm sure that your wif..."

"Well, 'ate to rush," bellowed Doolittle in a rush, "but they are boarding, wouldn't want to miss the boat now would we, come along Tilly, cheerio Liza, off with you now, wouldn't want you to miss your train or cab or whatever." He scowled at Eliza and pulled Tilly along the quay.

Tilly looked back. "Who did you say that was? I'd 'ave liked to meet 'em."

"My NIECE, my dear little niece, who just got mar- back from a 'oliday."

Eliza was dumbstruck. Henry called after Doolittle, "Bon voyage, DAD!" and Eliza hissed at him to be quiet. "I'm sorry, is there something wrong, dear?" said Henry, smirking.

Eliza just rolled her eyes. When she saw them ascend the gangplank in the distance, she finally spoke. "My mum not marrying him may have caused people to talk- and it certainly did- but I'll go to my grave thinking she did the right thing."

Henry had been looking after Doolittle and his lady friend as well. He clasped Eliza's hand and fervently said, "Agreed."


	6. 6 A Quiet Living Man

_Apologies for the delays, and thanks for all of the good feedback. I hope the next two chapters will come quickly after this one, which I decided was needed to set them up. This has been a great opportunity for me to do a bit of historical research, which has been fun, although the period is a bit depressing. Again, this wouldn't be possible without fun, meaty characters that are the creation of Shaw, Lerner, and Loewe, and my work is done in tribute to them. Enjoy._

Henry Higgins shook the snow from his shoulders and strode into the front foyer of 27A Wimpole Street to find his wife seated at the reception desk greeting him with a smile. "Good evening, Mrs Higgins!" he said jauntily.

"Good evening, Professor!" Eliza smiled. "How was your meeting today?"

"Quite interesting, quite interesting. Let's have tea and I'll tell you all about it."

They addressed each other formally in public situations, or when they wished to demonstrate their high regard for each other, or when one or the other wished to be sarcastic and cutting. This exchange, happily, was representative of the second scenario.

Not quite a month after they had come home from France, Archduke Ferdinand was shot, and England was drawn into confusion, uncertainty, and before summer ended, war. The news seemed to change the direction of the war every day, and Eliza took great comfort in the old routines, like continuing on as her husband's scheduler for his work.

However, it grew more difficult to avoid the war's influence. Eliza had assumed that Henry would never be involved because he was too old to enlist. And then just after Christmas, he was summoned by the War Office.

"They can't afford me," he had told Eliza upon reading the letter. "Not to mention that I am not interested in adjusting my methods to suit the ways of the military. Imagine, Mrs Higgins, your husband taking orders from some little lieutenant."

Eliza laughed heartily. "I would pity even the generals!" She even sent Henry off that morning with "Now don't be too hard on the poor generals, Professor!"

But as they sat in the parlour over their tea, it quickly became apparent that the meeting did not go as Eliza thought it would. Eliza grew agitated listening to Henry's account of the meeting. The War Office people did not order, bully, or beg. They simply and cleverly appealed to Henry's very high opinion of himself.

"...and of course no one in Europe has taken the study of phonetics and dialect in the direction I have. They admitted as much. Means I can dictate my own terms."

"Then you won't have to go overseas."

"Oh, I shall need to a bit, but away from all the action of course, and only for a few weeks at a time, I'll need to stay in close touch with the War Office..."

"Why can't you just give them some books like the Colonel did?" Eliza wailed.

The MI5 had contacted Colonel Pickering only the previous week about using his skills to help quell the uprisings in India. "I gave them a copy of _Spoken Sanskrit _and a copy of _Hindi Dialects of the North _and told them everything they needed from me was in those two volumes," he had told Eliza and Henry at a dinner party, sounding very old as he said it.

Henry dismissed Eliza's question. "Oh, I think he wanted to avoid being in a position of inadvertently getting some old friends in trouble. Not questioning his patriotism, mind you, he's as solid an Englishman as they come. He's given his best years for king and country. And now it's my turn."

"But what about your business, your research, your family..." Eliza was trying to raise reasoned concerns, but her voice broke when she mentioned "family."

Henry put his arm round Eliza's shoulders. "Come, Eliza, it's not like I'll be in harm's way. It will likely be more like a regular job than anything I've ever done... with a few trips here and there of course. But don't you see the opportunity? You and I know the value of my work, but there are always those who think it of no importance. Now I have a chance to prove its worth to society, to our country, by using it to help bring down the Kaiser! That will silence the naysayers once and for all!"

Eliza looked quietly at Henry. "So are you doing this for Britain or for yourself, Professor?"

"For mys-! For my DISCIPLINE, Mrs Higgins, for the study of language! It will never be marginalised again!"

Eliza sighed. Henry was his work, the man and the vocation were inseparable, so his words confirmed her suspicions. "And what is it exactly that you will be doing?"

Henry said nothing for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Ah. Yes. The consensus is that it would be better if you did not know all about my work. Of course I trust you, I know you are trustworthy, but generally if family members in this particular department are ah, unaware of the particulars of the officer's work, they are less prone to be... used, or... sought out."

Nothing could make that explanation sound reassuring. Eliza felt faint, but returned Henry's look with a hard stare, from which he had to look away.


	7. 7 Storm Conditions

_I'm rather surprised how long this got, my apologies. Thanks for all your great responses so far; they're keeping me honest. I do not own the characters. They are the property of Shaw (Pygmalion) and Lerner and Loewe (My Fair Lady). That I can do so much with them is because they were created well, and my work is a tribute. Enjoy._

88888

The Duchess of Manchester, founder of the Field Surgery Aid Society, always made her "unannounced surprise inspections" of the Society's warehouse in London every other Wednesday morning, but that didn't make the staff and volunteers any less nervous about her scrutiny and criticism. Only Eliza Higgins, the warehouse's manager, was unperturbed by the visits. She had dealt with much worse than the Duchess.

"It is good to see such low breakage figures, Mrs Higgins. We mustn't waste our volunteers' efforts."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Your bandage supply room is very clean. See that it stays that way. Our brave wounded soldiers deserve no less."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"And remember that no item should sit here longer than a week. The supplies must get where they are needed quickly."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Eliza and the Duchess walked together to the loading yard, where the Duchess's maid held the car door for her. (The chauffeur had enlisted months ago.) "Remember, Mrs Higgins, we must redouble our efforts. We are needed more than ever. No slacking now!"

"Thank you, Your Grace," said Eliza as the car door closed, and muttered under her breath, "I'll take that as your way of saying 'good job.'"

When the Duchess wasn't there, which was most of the time, the warehouse was on the whole a pleasant place to be. There was a constant flurry of activity involved in unloading and sorting hospital supplies before sending them on their way overseas. Eliza's biggest challenge was getting women of leisure who were not accustomed to work to do their jobs at the necessary pace. For her brusque, efficient demeanour she was nicknamed "the sergeant," but she was generally liked and took a quiet pride in earning the name.

And all the activity took her mind off home and Henry. His first few months with the War Office were apparently glorious, then descended into monotony and further into frustration. His tours of duty were only a few weeks at a time at first, then grew longer. He was both drained and agitated when he returned home, and he and Eliza chafed at the prohibition against discussing his work. This time, he had been gone nearly four months, with no correspondence permitted, as usual.

As the Duchess's car pulled away, Eliza noticed a young woman in khaki standing on the step of a lorry, who had been watching the exchange. Hmph, cheeky thing, Eliza thought. "May I help you, miss?" she asked. And then she gasped.

"Ee-loi-za Doo-li'le!" said the lorry driver as broadly as she was smiling.

"Fanny Bowyer!" squealed Eliza as they pounced into each other's arms.

"'Ow long's it been since I've seen you!" cried Fanny. "Five years if a day!"

"I know, I'm sorry. I went back to the flower market once after I had my lessons and no one recognised me. It was awful. I've been scared to go back since."

"It's all right, we're all of us wearin' different 'ats now!" Fanny held out her breeches to their full extent and curtseyed comically.

"What ARE you up to, then?"

"Women's Land Army in Newbury! I'm a farmer now! And some of the churches out there 'ave been collecting medical supplies and were looking for a lorry driver, and well, I can drive a lorry now too! So 'ere I am!"

"I envy you, Fan, outside in the fresh air, while I'm stuck in this old barn in the middle of the city."

"But look at you 'ere talking fine and running this whole place!"

"Oh, I don't run this place! The Duchess of Manchester runs the place!" Eliza said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

Fanny grinned at the sarcasm. "Well, dear, it looks to me like you're doin' a tip-top job of not runnin' it! And married too? Your dad 'as some stories to tell."

"Some of which may be true!"

"Your 'usband, is he in the war?"

Eliza sighed just a bit. "Yes, his speciality is accelerated language instruction. Teaching the Allies to understand each other." This was the standard story she gave when asked about Henry.

"Aow, someone's finally teachin' the Yanks to talk English!" Fanny grinned. Eliza smiled very weakly. "You've 'eard that one before, then."

"Only about forty times. No, really, it's all right! Let's get you unloaded and I'll give you a quick tour." Eliza flagged down a passing Girl Guide. "You! Looking for something to do, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Get three of your mates, make sure each has a cart, and put everything in this lorry into the proper storerooms. And how do we carry the bottles?"

"Slow and easy, ma'am."

"Excellent. Off you go." The Guide scampered off.

The warehouse tour was much more of a catch-up on years of gossip. Perhaps Eliza's fears were overblown, or the war had erased a few class lines, or Fanny was a better friend than she'd given her credit for, but it was a great relief to talk to her and learn she would see her regularly with deliveries. Eventually duty called, or at least gave warning, as Eliza could hear someone down the hall say, "Let sergeant know, she'll straighten it out quick."

Eliza quickly walked Fanny to the loading yard. "They'll be wanting me now. Fan, it's been so good to see you. Please give everyone my love."

"An' I'll be 'ere next week. I 'aven't told you 'alf of what's been up!" Fanny always liked an audience.

"I can't wait!"

"Mrs Higgins, please!" came Mrs Ames's shrill voice behind Eliza. Eliza rolled her eyes and smiled conspiratorially to Fanny in farewell, then calmly turned to Mrs Ames, Mrs Millstone, and Mrs Stroud, who had followed her out to the loading yard and were now arrayed before her.

"What can I do for you ladies?" she said with an efficient smile.

"It's about Mrs Bartram," said Mrs Millstone.

"Mrs Bartram! Is she all right?" Millie Bartram had just found out two days ago that her husband had been killed in action in Turkey, yet she appeared as scheduled for her volunteer shift today. It was unusual, but not unheard of: many women who had suffered such losses kept their schedules for the war effort out of a sense of duty and as a tribute to their fallen.

"Well, several of us are thinking that she ought to go home," said Mrs Ames.

"Is she upset?"

"No, well, frankly, she may be! She just keeps talking! On and on!". Mrs Stroud seemed agitated.

"To her husband?"

"No, to us, about her husband!" said Mrs Millstone. "Everything! About when they met, silly things they did together..."

"And the letters!" said Mrs Stroud.

"Yes, about the letters he wrote from the war, and what was happening in Turkey, some of it was... not at all nice..."

Mrs Stroud grew impatient and interrupted Mrs Millstone. "In the first place I think the frivolous chatter is very disrespectful of Lieutenant Bartram's sacrifice in battle. Also I suspect it is very bad for morale to be constantly..."

"Reminded," said Mrs Ames.

"Over and over again!" Mrs Stroud's voice rose almost as high as Mrs Ames's. "Michael this and Michael that! We know he has passed! We know things are unpleasant in a war! But we don't go dithering on about our husbands! You certainly don't, Mrs Higgins!"

That's because I can't, Eliza grimly thought.

Mrs Ames smiled. "Poor Mrs Bartram is obviously hysterical. She needs to be home where she can be properly looked after by relatives until she regains some control..."

Eliza's jaw dropped. Every time she thought she had figured out upper class British society, she was dumbfounded in a new way. This would never even happen in Lisson Grove.

Her own mum died when she was twelve. Terrible pains in the stomach, a fever, and then it was over. Henry had later told Eliza it was probably appendicitis. Eliza's dad had been on the other side of town when it happened, but no matter, all her neighbors stepped right up to help with what they could from their own meagre stores. Right after Gert was buried, all of her friends and relatives got together for what Harry the dustman called an "Irish wake," and all the Gert Farrier stories started flying until people were crying and laughing at the same time. Gert had been a barmaid at Tim Cooper's pub, and Tim put his arm round young Eliza and said, "I've seen ladies and gentlemen in me time, but for takin' care of other people, and stayin' true to 'erself, there was no finer lady than your own mum." It couldn't be easy being a barmaid and a lady at the same time, and Eliza never forgot those words. Or the stories. They made her mum seem alive and with them all for just a bit longer until they were ready to let go.

Why couldn't people take care of each other like that? Death was no stranger in this war, why pretend it didn't happen? Or that the deceased didn't exist? Or that he was some legendary hero and not a real person who had been a part of everyone's messy little lives? Or that their lives weren't messy?!

Hurricane Eliza was about to strike. The mistresses Ames, Millstone, and Stroud continued to walk right into it.

"... We do need to consider the feelings of the other ladies who work with her." Mrs Ames had still been spinning rationalizations.

"Consider their feelings," Eliza said, nodding. The three ladies nodded eagerly in response. "Consider their feelings. And what of Mrs Bartram's feelings? In heaven's name, she's just lost her husband! She has just paid you, paid us all here, the great compliment of coming to us in her time of trouble because she feels comfortable and accepted here, and you propose to just leave her flat because she's not saying pretty things when she's bereaved! You may need to think about the way you would like to be treated in that situation."

Mrs Stroud jumped in. "Well, I for one would..."

"No!" snapped Eliza. "Don't tell me; it's not my business. Just think about it. If coming here and working and chatting helps Mrs Bartram get through this time, then we shall let her. If she troubles you so much, then send her over to the office to help me with filing. If you cannot handle helping her, I will be happy for the privilege." Eliza stormed through the line of silenced ladies back into the building.

From the driver's seat of the lorry, Fanny peered discreetly over the road map she pretended to read, smiled, and quietly said, "Bra-vo E-liza!"


	8. 8 Autumn in Passchendaele

Life intervenes, which is why I'm late posting this next chapter. Which is also, I suppose, the overriding theme of these vignettes. I do not own the characters, They are owned by Shaw, Lerner, & Loewe, and I'm just looking for an excuse to do a little historical research. And answer some of my own questions. What are your answers? Enjoy.

...

_Autumn in Passchendaele_

"Thank you for all your help, Private." said Lt Murray, rising from his chair.

"Can you tell me when I can rejoin my unit, sir?" said the soldier eagerly.

"Soon as we get the communication through. In the meantime, we ask that you wait upstairs. Corporal? Could you please escort Pvt Williams to the front room and supply him with some tea?" Murray watched the two men climb the narrow stairway of the half-bombed-out farmhouse. Then he turned to Henry Higgins, who had been sitting quietly through the interview taking notes. Murray lowered his voice. "Sloan?"

Higgins also spoke quietly. "Bavarian through and through. The A's were very obvious, and he was clearly not yet master of a British V."

Once he left England, Higgins was not Henry Higgins, nor even Captain Higgins, as he was known officially in the Army. He was Lieutenant Henry Sloan, a clerk who was particularly adept at shorthand, called upon when soldiers who were separated from their units were debriefed about their experiences. But instead of taking down interviews, he analyzed speech patterns, looking for imposters who may try to infiltrate the Allied forces using the identity of a killed or captured Allied soldier.

The interviews were done by Lieutenant Murray. Higgins was told nothing about him other than that was not his real name either, though his speech gave him away as being born in Cardiff and having studied at Eton. Murray had a quiet, reassuring demeanor that won the men's trust from the start.

"Damn, third this week," sighed Murray. "This isn't a battle anymore, it's a harrassment to see who makes a mistake first." The corporal came back downstairs. "Corporal, I'm afraid we have to take the fellow calling himself Williams up to GHQ and try to find out what happened to the real SamWilliams. Thank you... That seems to be the last one for now."

Higgins snorted and shook his head. "That jerry has a better shot to survive this experience now he's off the front, as opposed to the rest of us. That's the irony of the whole exercise. I'd always been interested in visiting Belgium, you know, but I hadn't planned on such an extended stay," He shuffled his notes for the day at the wobbly wooden table.

"Well, the rain's stopped for the moment." Murray chuckled, lit a cigarette, and flung the burning match carelessly out the window as he watched "Williams" being led away. "At least we needn't worry about brush fires."

Higgins had been away from Britain for four months, and stationed at this soggy base for four weeks. The base served to supply the men in the trenches, whose entrances were just a few hundred yards away, with food, and had a cook crew and a kitchen that was constantly being rebuilt after bombings. From that end of the base Higgins could smell smoke and something like vegetables, and if you thought about it hard enough, meat. The supper preparation was done and now the men could rest while it cooked. Pvt Horner got out his asthmatic concertina and started to play and sing. Higgins was drawn by the words. He stepped out to the yard to listen.

Nights are growing very lonely, days are very long;

I'm a-growing weary only list'ning for your song.

He didn't know the words to the verse. But every tommy, yank, canuck, and anzac knew the chorus.

There's a long long trail a-winding into the land of my dreams...

He joined in without thinking about it. There was a slight melancholy silence after the last chorus, and then Horner said, "'At's right, Lt Sloan, sing the couple o' notes you 'ave and the rest will come by 'n' by."

The men laughed and Higgins knit his brow and said "Mind, Horner, or I'll have your number before the night's out!"

"Oof, someone else better sing, me voice is gettin' me in trouble wi' the brass!" More laughter. This had become the usual evening banter. The enlisted men had figured out quickly that despite his bluster, "Sloan" was loath to write anyone up. Higgins for his part had too much admiration for how the men handled the hellish conditions on the front to want to add to their troubles. But Horner threatened to cross the line the most.

Miles struck up "Bombed last night and bombed the night before..." and Higgins shook his head and went back inside to the refuge of his papers as the other joined in. The next verse would be "Gassed last night..." and then the language of the following verses found levels of crudeness he didn't think anyone would dare voice.

Eventually, "Meal's ready, transport front 'n' center!" came the head cook's call from the kitchen. Horner, Dodson, and MacMillan headed for the kitchen to pick up the big heavy pots of stew to carry to the trenches. When they returned the men at the base would eat. As officers, Higgins and Murray would get their bowls before that, but from the beginning they had a wordless pact not to touch their meals before the return of the transport men. Higgins thanked the soldier for the bowl placed before him, and then quietly pushed it away to transcribe his notes, letting his attention wander briefly to that fool Horner whistling Bombed Or What Have You Last Night across the barren field toward the supply trench with his two heavy pots of slop.

The drone of an airplane engine quickly grew louder. Higgins pulled his notes together, stuffed them into a strongbox, and locked it. After four weeks this close to the front, this move was well-practiced. All the men either ducked or manned a battle station as usual. Except Horner. He was closer to the farmhouse, but gambled on making it to the trench entrance. He didn't. The missile hit, rocking the ground. From under the table, through the open doorway, Higgins saw Horner fly into the air, stew going everywhere.

Higgins yelled and bolted out the doorway. No one followed him. He heard a blast to his left and veered wide, made it over to Horner, grabbed him under his arms, and began to drag him to the farmhouse. Horner cried out in pain. "Steady, old man, you're all right now," mumbled Higgins as he suddenly felt his age under Horner's weight.

"Those poor blighters on the line, supper's gonna be late, make sure they're fed tonight, sir?"

"In due time," Higgins grunted as he pulled Horner into the house. "Now let's see what- MEDIC! NOW!" Horner bled freely from his side, his breathing laboured. He had almost no colour.

"Sir," Horner gasped, "me wife Wendy, tell her I thought of her, I love her."

"Tell her yourself, Horner," snapped Higgins as he pulled off his jacket and shirt and tried to bind the gash.

"Oh I wish, but I think I'm done for."

Higgins grabbed Horner's face. It felt cold. "They're on their way! Stay awake! Stay with me here!"

"Sorry Leften... 'at's one order I jus' can't obey." Horner laughed quietly, closed his eyes, gasped twice, and was gone.

Horner's death was the unit's only one that day. But this death seemed to rob the unit of its voice. As he wished, the men on the line were fed that night. All who were not wounded or tending wounded pitched in regardless of rank to reconstruct the kitchen and the stew, working in near silence. Higgins had never cooked anything besides toast on a fork, but he chopped potatoes and measured flour with determination. Murray helped too, and glanced over at Higgins frequently.

Well after midnight Higgins stumbled through the rubble back to where he hoped his bunk still was. Something he kicked wheezed sharply. He bent down and moved a rock.

Horner's concertina.

There was a gaping hole in the bellows through which he could see bent and broken reeds. He held the concertina carefully, not knowing what to do or what to think. Outwardly, he did not move. Inwardly, he felt like someone had flung him against a wall like he was a rag doll. He started to tremble. He put the ruined concertina carefully on a ledge and walked very quickly into the supply room.

Murray watched Higgins go in. He waited uneasily about three minutes and then went in himself.

The supply room was a narrow pantry with a small window at the end opposite the door. Murray saw in the moonlight the silhouette of a man near the window, his face in his hand.

"Sloan, is that you?" said Murray casually. Silence. Then a little more insistent: "Sloan."

"I will thank you to leave here, Mr Murray, I will be out presently." Higgins' voice was angry and authoritative but wavered once.

"Afraid I can't do that." Murray walked over to Higgins and put his hand lightly on his shoulder.

"I'm fine!" shouted Higgins, except "fine" turned into a sob. Murray just left his hand on Higgins' shoulder while Higgins quietly shook and slowly regained enough control to speak evenly. "The men can't see that I'm not master of myself. You shouldn't have seen that either."

"On the contrary, when you stop having emotions, that's when I'd worry. Like this, you're still capable of bravery and nobility. Like pulling Horner to safety. You'll probably get a medal for that."

"Ha. All the good it did. He still died."

"Yes, in safety and relative peace, knowing someone cared."

"That's still not bravery, that's common decency."

"In times like these common decency often gets off at the first stop."

They stood together wordlessly for a few minutes, then Higgins looked at Murray, clapped him on the shoulder, and headed for the door. Murray understood and nodded with a small smile. He also knew that the attack likely created some chaos up and down the line, and there would be "customers" by sunup. He followed Higgins out and pulled the door behind him.


	9. 9 Clear View From The Edge

9 Clear View From The Edge

_My apologies. It has been entirely too long, I've been having an eventful life (good stuff, don't worry). This chapter was actually the first thing I wrote when I decided to do this project, and I have revised it a million times as the project grew. This is NOT the last chapter, this is comparatively serious, and I still want to tie up a couple ends and get a couple laughs. Next installment in a couple weeks, hopefully._

_..._

The crowd stood on the train platform chatting surprisingly quietly for their size, ignoring the horizontal mist, typical November weather for London. Eliza stood with them clutching a telegramme, the first communication she had from her husband in five months: "Arriving troop train victoria 1540 henry." He was alive, and he was coming home. She had heard of so many who weren't: Mille Bartram's husband and Roberta Goldsmith's husband from the warehouse where she volunteered, Jamie Pennyworth and Reg Horner from Tottenham Court Road... It seemed like Fanny always brought bad news with the gossip and the weekly deliveries from the country.

**"**There it is!" a woman cried, and all heads on the platform turned as one to look down the track at the approaching train. The crowd was behind a rope five yards from the track, as the railway police saw a need to keep anxious family from storming the still-moving trains. Before the train reached the platform, soldiers popped their heads out the windows, waving madly. Eliza, on the far end of the platform, looked intently at the front cars where the officers rode, though she knew her husband was not the sort to wave out a window. The brakes squealed, and even before the train had stopped, men were leaping from the carriages, their families already in their sights. "Michael!" "Albert, here!" "Calm DOWN Mum, he SEES you!" "Dad Dad Dad Dad!" Eliza was surrounded by chaotic reunions and bided her time.

The waiting area started to thin almost immediately, and then she could see him, just out of the carriage, walking the emptying space between the the train and the rope. He stared at her intently, but wearily. He looked a stone lighter. Yet he walked very briskly and with purpose to her, not taking his eyes off her. He stepped in front of her, dropped his duffle, put his hands on her shoulders, and asked, "Is your hat pinned on?"

**"**No, why?" She later chided herself for having to ask. Henry snatched the wide hat off her head, pulled her to him, and kissed her very hard. He had never kissed her frequently, let alone in public. She was shocked, but she enjoyed it too much to want to stop. When their lips parted, she looked in the eyes that looked back at her unblinking. "Rough tour?"

**"**Rough does not begin to describe it," he said, allowing his eyes to close as his forehead touched hers. He looked "like he's got a sack of trouble on his shoulders," as her mum used to say.

**"**I've got a cab waiting out front." She put her hand on his arm and he pulled her close as they walked to the exit.

The ride home was quiet, except for a polite "Welcome home, sir, and thank you," from the elderly cabbie who had had this job before and understood. Pearce had hot coffee, plum preserves, and sponge cake waiting as instructed, and then quietly closed the door to the parlour.

Henry pulled off the wool jacket and breathed deeply the scent of the potted flowers lining every windowsill . Eliza caught the jacket, noticing the epaulets. "Major! You left a lieutenant and came home a captain last time!"

"Yes, the promotions only come after I have had to do something particularly annoying."

"I don't want to know where, but... the front?"

"Yes, it was bound to happen sooner or later. A war like this, there is no such thing as a job that never sees combat."

"I suppose I understand that. You do need to go where the spies are, and the front is where they..."

He wheeled round at her. "Spies! What do you mean spies? Where did you hear that?"

"Nowhere, I just thought that given your expertise..."

"And with whom have you discussed my supposed work with spies?" he spat.

"No one, of course! We've talked about that! I don't see that it's so dangerous to talk at home..."

"Dangerous!" he thundered. "Damn it, woman, it's a matter of life and death!"

She said nothing, but looked at him carefully. Usually she would blow up right back at him. The quiet unnerved Henry, and he collected himself as best he could. "Eliza, I apologize. I know you are too bright to betray me even by accident. And I suppose I at least have a few fellows I can speak frankly with, and you haven't even had me round."

"You were gone so long this time. Over a month longer than they first said. I know it can't be helped, but it's so hard to not know what to say to people, not know how..." She had kept the tears at bay, but her voice began to crack.

Henry sat down beside her as she tried to be as businesslike as possible with the handkerchief. "You may have noticed I was rather demonstrative at the station," he said.

A laugh helped mask the sob. "I'm used to you being impulsive. And it wasn't at all unpleasant."

He smiled briefly. "I don't think I'm giving anything away by saying that the front is everything you could imagine and more. I've watched too many men die... I'm probably in for more of that... Well, one day we were favoured with a simultaneous shelling and gassing, courtesy of the Kaiser. I very heroically cowered in a corner, sucking on a mouldy gas mask."

"Better than the air at that point."

"Marginally. And I might have thought only marginally better than death, except..." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Liza, I was desperate to see you. It's trite to talk of being at the point of death and thinking of things left unsaid. But that was it. I have loved you dutifully, I enjoy your company, and yes, I need you, but I have never said how much I truly, deeply love you, dearest Eliza. Please forgive me for not having the courage to tell you this before now."

His grip on her hand might have hurt her had she not been gripping almost as strongly. She smiled lightly but her eyes held him. "We're a pair, you and I. I've loved you for years but I didn't want to burden you with that. It... didn't seem your style... and I had so much to be thankful for I determined to be content with that. Well, maybe not content, but at least happy. I should be the one begging forgiveness".

Henry relaxed his grip, his whole body, but still held her, and returned the smile. "Perhaps we should start by forgiving ourselves. You looked at me for a moment like you wanted to ring up the staff at Bedlam. I can't blame you."

**"**No! Well... yes, as a matter of fact. I went to a lecture last week about recognising the signs of shell shock."

Henry nodded ruefully. "Shell shock. Perhaps I do have that. It would stand to reason, I suppose."

**"**Oh, no, I hope not, everything you have been saying has made such lovely, wonderful sense to me!"

They held each other close and kissed again, finally, freely. When they parted, they looked for a long time into each other's teary eyes. They couldn't help thinking of the dead and the survivors they knew. Here they were, happier than they had ever been, but the happiness was tempered in the midst of so much sadness and pain.**  
**


End file.
